


one part of three is who we will be

by a_mind_at_work (Madame_Marauder)



Series: this whole damn city [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angie is great but so is Theo, Benedict Arnold gets what's coming to him, Betsey straight up kills a bitch like what, Espionage, F/F, Martha L is an awkward child, Martha Washingmom is best Martha, Multi, Not In Chronological Order, Onscreen Character Death, Other, Peggy is soft, Perfume, super secret spy gfs, they're lesbians harold, this is dark dystopia folks be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: snippets of the Schuyler Sisters' lives





	1. the things that you do in the name of what you love

       “Come on, Benny,” she murmurs, her voice curling around his name like it's poison. “Did you really think we wouldn't figure it out?”

       Ben tries to pull out of the chokehold he's found himself in, and she tuts disapprovingly. “Eliza,” he manages. “Eliza, I know you're better than this. Don't-”

       “And we thought you were better than this, Arnold. I guess we were both wrong,” she cuts in, her voice smooth with a deadly calm. The small catwalk sways as he struggles, but her grip is solid. She'd been trained by Washington himself- what exactly did the sellout expect? “One question. Why?”

       The man remains stubbornly silent, and she presses warningly on his windpipe. He huffs out a breath, and shakily says, “I fell in love with someone. She showed me how very wrong we are. Eliza, the Loyalists are right. The world isn't that b-”

       She senses what he's about to do a second before he does it, and rebalances herself a heartbeat before he tries to flip them over the railing. He only barely manages to grab the edge of the catwalk, and she steps forward, her toes inches from his fingers. Hie eyes are blown wide with fear as he dangles a couple hundred feet above an unforgiving steel floor.

        Serves him right.

        “Benedict,” Eliza says calmly, nudging his hand with the tip of her shoe, “I don't think you understand how very lucky you are that Washington sent me to deal with you. Just think about what, say, John would do in my position. Or Alex. Or, in fact, Gil. You  _ did _ almost get him killed.”

        She rests her foot on his hand.

       “You won't do it,” he pants desperately. “You're just a woman.”

       Eliza bares her teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Ah, Ben, but you've forgotten. You've very nearly killed someone I care about. What is it that Abby is always saying? Ah, yes.  _ Remember the ladies _ . Too bad you wouldn't listen.” 

       She crushes her shoe down as hard as she can.

 

       Frances is swimming around the room when she steps back into her apartment, holographic fins pushing her through the air. Eliza lets herself smile at John's piece of spare-time coding, and locks the door behind her before placing down her bags and stepping in front of the idly drifting turtle.

       “Blue Sky to Operator,” she enunciates clearly, and Frances stops, waiting, the connection slowly reaching out to wherever Gil is at this point.

       The turtle eventually replies in her friend's voice. “What order is the sky at dawn?”

       He sounds pained, like he's been crying. She can't exact blame him for that. “Pink clouds, blue sky, yellow sun,” she says. She and her sisters, the Schuylers, are the dawn. Delicate and elegant on the surface, Washington had said when he gave them their codenames, but unstoppable harbingers of things to come.

       Gil exhales shakily. “Um. The turncoat is… gone, yes?”

       “Yeah,” Eliza manages.

       “And it looks-”

       “Like suicide.”

       There's silence on the line, and a quiet sniff, then the soft thump of a hand hitting a table. “Good,” Gil declares fiercely, his tone ringing with betrayal and a vicious sorrow. “Good. He won't get anyone else hurt, then.”

       Eliza nods slowly, her numbness fading until she can feel the sting of loss and the pain of being double-crossed. “No, no he won't.”

       A pause.

       “Why would Arnold do that?” Gil bursts out. “He was our friend! Our brother! Why would he betray us like that?”

       Eliza sighs, slumps into a chair. “He claimed he fell in love, and that she showed him we're wrong. But he also said that when trying to throw us off of a catwalk in the purification center, so.”

      “Are you alright?” her friend demands, the issue of Arnold’s disloyalty temporarily forgotten.

      She snorts. “I'm fine. I really don't know what he expected. Probably Sunflower, actually. The boy's got a protective streak a mile wide, if there was anyone Arnold would have expected to come after him, it would have been him.”

      Gil laughs, and Eliza can easily picture his grin at being included on John’s list of people to kill for. “That he does. Listen, Blue, take care of yourself, okay?”

      “Yeah, well, you too. See you around.”

      She ends the connection, and Frances goes back to her usual self, the basic pet coding bringing her over to nudge at Eliza’s arm anxiously. Eliza leans into the smooth, barely-tangible shell, and takes a shaking breath, finding some comfort despite how her only companion is a couple of lasers and manipulated air currents.

      John had done a beautiful job with the modifications to the code, the call system seamlessly hidden under the guise of a holographic pet. For everyone who could feasibly afford a pet, it was a perfect cover that no-one would think to question.

      It also gave those working solo- like her, for example- some sense of companionship, someone at all that they know they can definitely rely on.

      This was why John was her favorite.

      Frances bumps her head into Eliza’s hand again, and she smiles weakly. “It's okay, Fran. I think I'll write to my sisters again.”

      For three sisters who had scarcely ever been apart, the sudden shock of being split up on different levels was jarring. At first, the loneliness had been crushing, but then Gil had pointedly suggested that they should keep diaries to give to each other when they did finally see the other two again. So they did.

       Angelica’s books were surely long, rambling and ranting but always brilliant. Peggy’s would certainly vary in length, and be punctuated by doodles in the margins and sarcastic asides. Eliza didn't necessarily write every day, but her letters were always meaningful when they did get written.

       There were also parts that she would only confide in one sister, not both.

_ Angelica,  _ tonight's reads.  _ Today I killed a man. You will know of it, I am sure. He nearly got my dear friend killed, and betrayed us all, but I hated having to do it. I hate how cold I can be, that white-hot hatred below the surface, but god knows it's useful. If I hadn't killed him, he would have destroyed everything we've worked for all these years, and all of our friends’ lives. This is the line we must walk, I suppose. I hope my balance stays steady. _


	2. eau de resistánce

__ Henry Laurens Jr. swans out of the room with an obnoxious tilt of the chin, and she barely contains her noise of disgust at his presence. But the shop's co-owner drifts over, and Peggy bites back the venom that's sprouting ready on her tongue. 

       Dolley just smiles at her. “It's a shame the good Laurens skipped town. I pity whichever girl ends up with  _ him _ . His family's funds will make up for his attitude, I hope.”

       “You're hoping in vain,” Peggy tells her friend, and settles the perfume back into its spot. In general, Yellow looks down on having any actual businesses, but as unnecessary as they are salons and perfumeries somehow get an exception to that rule. The two of them have run with that fact as much as possible. “He called the minimalist collection of bottles too gaudy.”

       The other woman laughs. “Somehow, I doubt that marriage is in his future anytime soon.”

       “Somehow, I think you're right.”

       Her friend grins, and then sweeps off to go fuss over the salon room. They've not got all that long until the group of vain bachelorettes show up for their Friday-afternoon hair and perfume. It's always awful to have to listen to their cruel mockery of everyone below, and their insults and gossip about other girls, but these are the daughters of very well connected men. At least once a session, they let slip something important.

        Peggy spritzes the perfume samples onto their specific cards, separating them out before the smell can mingle. She knows that Livingston #1 will go for the bright, obnoxious strawberry, and Livingston #2 will want the cloying flower scent. The others are harder to judge, but she thinks that the quiet one might enjoy the new vanilla one. 

        She gives herself a spray of the vibrant citrus scent that she's come to be known for, tucks the wrapped cards into her pocket, and hurries to go greet the horde of airheaded bachelorettes.

 

       Oh, thank the Lord for Martha Custis. 

       “Mrs. Custis! It's a pleasure to see you,” Peggy calls. And it is, because she can stop talking to a certain idiotic heiress,  _ and  _ it's the socially proper thing to do. 

       Martha smiles, and a girl around Catherine’s age peers over the stately woman's shoulder anxiously. “Margaret, my dear. How are you? Do you have a moment?”

       She's vaguely aware of Dolley sliding to her elbow and leading the shocked heiress away, who's quietly spluttering because  _ that's Martha Custis, Martha Custis is being kind to a shopkeeper on Yellow, Martha Custis is within fifteen feet of me. _

       God, Peggy loves it when Martha stops by. “Of course, Mrs. Custis. What can I do for you?”

       “My young friend here is interested in the lavender collection,” Martha replies. Peggy skims her eyes over the girl, and blinks in surprise- those curls and freckles are unmistakable. 

       “Of course,” she hears herself say. “Right this way.”

      She leads the two women to the private room, the one almost never used. Martha nods and smiles approvingly as she closes the door. “Lovely setup, my dear. Margaret, this is Martha Laurens. Martha, this is Margaret.”

       “A pleasure to meet you,” Peggy offers, and they awkwardly shake hands.

       Ms. Laurens- she can't think of her as anything but- glances up at Martha hesitantly. “Go ahead, ask her,” the older woman says reassuringly.

       “I- um- my brother. John. Do you know- is he- how is he?”

       Peggy smiles gently, and the girl ducks her head, cheeks aflame. “He's doing just fine. Last I heard, he was working on a holographic pet. I assume you don't get to talk about him much?”

       “No,” she admits. “We don't. But after he left- before they searched his room, I mean- I found some stuff. Pamphlets. Notes he wrote to himself. I understand why he left, now. Could you- could you maybe pass a message to him?”

      At that, Peggy hesitates, but Martha nods just slightly. “I can try.”

      John's sister glances down, holding the sides of her skirts, trying to hide how much her hands are shaking. “Tell him that Junior's a dick. Tell him that Father is withdrawn and rarely leaves the office. Tell him that Mattie's brother… tell him that Mattie's brother wants to help. And that I do, too. Not that a couple of sixteen-year-olds can do much, of course, but. Hey.”

       Martha smiles and pats the girl's shoulder. Peggy sighs, and glances at the older woman for guidance. “I'll send your message… but I don't know that you really want to get involved directly.”

      Laurens- obviously her brother's sister, if the sudden determined light in her eyes is anything to go off- opens her mouth, but Martha nods. “She's right. It  _ is _ dangerous.”

      A shake of her head, curls bouncing. “Is there nothing I can do? At all?”

     Both women pause, thinking. “No,” Peggy says finally. “Not yet. But- well, hairdressers hear all sorts of gossip from their customers. If you hear anything really, really important, come to Dolley and get your hair done.”

    Laurens smiles, genuinely, and nods. “That, I can do. I imagine it would come as a great relief to my father if I took more interest in delicate, womanly things.”

    Peggy returns her smile, and hands Martha a slim box. Laurens tilts her head, but Martha holds it to her chest. “Thank you, Margaret. I was almost out.”

    “Of course,” she replies. Yes, it's true that the box contains a slim, tinted vial of the custom lavender scent that Martha has turned into her calling card, but the contents are really much more precious than a perfume.

    Concealed in the sides are tiny, folded notes, dozens of them. Some are important intelligence. Others are updates on more mundane things. Still more are love letters. All are from Martha's husband, in hiding somewhere even she doesn't know. Peggy can't say, either- the boxes come from Green, but that's almost certainly not the notes’ place of origin.

     She leads the Marthas back out to the main shop, and maintains a light, easy, completely fabricated conversation with Martha as she goes through the motions of letting Laurens smell different perfumes. It boosts the shop’s reputation, for one, to have Martha Custis as a customer. And it also provides a seamless reason for Laurens to suddenly become a devoted customer as well; because Martha Custis recommended it, and they visited together.

     Peggy gives herself a moment to be absolutely giddy at how much foot traffic this is going to bring in- how much  _ information _ . 

     But eventually the two have to leave, and it's back to the usual daily circuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND PEGGY  
> okay so there's that, angie is next
> 
> my main Tumblr: @discount-satan  
> my writing Tumblr: @littlelionroar
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!


	3. here at the beginning of the end, the end of infinity with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chronologically right after john skedaddled

     “We need to talk,” Theodosia says, pressing on her arm lightly.

     Angelica smiles up at her, and ignores the flicker of worry in her stomach. Last time either of them had said this, it was right after Angelica had woken up to a sobbing Theo holding a knife over her throat, the other woman's hand shaking and trembling. Not exactly the best precedent, one would think.

     “About?”

     Theo gives her a look, and she realizes it's nothing fit for their stark cubicles and the hidden cameras surrounding them here. “Right,” she says, and Theo turns to stalk away to her desk.

     Publicly, they're very careful to cultivate a specific image. Workplace friends, but not too close. Not close enough to be confidants, not close enough to do much more than double-check reports for each other. That's all. Just a couple of secretaries, going about their ordinary, unimportant, loyal lives.

     But behind closed doors, they're anything but. 

     Angelica is well aware that her information is second only to the Wife's in importance. Of course, she doesn't know who the Wife is; if she were to be discovered, she can't endanger anyone else. She doesn't know where her sisters are. She doesn't know who is on her side. She doesn't know what the resistance is even planning.

     At least she has Theo.

     And that  _ has _ to say something about her life, that her only companion is a coworker who just so happens to have been a hidden informant for the Red, that her lover is someone she's convinced to become a double agent for them. They'd gotten involved long before they realized they were each other's target, and by the time they had that revelation… well, there were feelings to complicate the matter. 

    See also, the knife incident. Yeah.

    It wasn't hard to slip over to Theo's apartment after work, a couple doors over, down the hall of their apartments. The other was waiting for her, her eyes dark. “Come on in,” Theo says agreeably, a faint and false smile plastered on.

    Angelica makes herself smile back as she steps inside. Something in her calms at the bubble of isolation and lack of surveillance, but something else stiffens. As always, the glint of Theo's wedding band makes her uneasy.

    Then she thinks about who the match belongs to, and as per usual feels better about what she and Theo are doing. 

    “What's wrong?” Angelica asks quietly, once the door has been shut and locked behind her. Theo just waves for her to sit, and throws the deadbolt, pulls down a soundproofing curtain over the doorway. 

     She gingerly takes a seat on the edge of the couch, folding her hands in her lap, the picture of a calm but sophisticated friend. It's hard to let the facade drop when Theo is pacing rapidly, silently mouthing curses with tension in every line of her frame. But eventually the other stops and pulls a holoprojector from her pocket, unwieldy with an adapter connecting an ancient datastick with the scanner. She gently tosses the odd fusion down onto the ottoman, then whirls on her heel to stare at the wall. “Play file two-one-seven-six-dash-M from the beginning.”

    File 2176-M. A year, obviously, and a letter. Perhaps it was a report? But from the year after the videos Washington had…

   A shaky, flickering hologram appears above the projector.  _ “Gentlemen,”  _ says the figure who'd appeared, with a voice obviously well-used to public speaking.  _ “I assume we have reached a decision on what will be done about the unlawful grab for power that has been made?” _

_     “Mr. Madison, no-one on this body recognizes the events of last week as unlawful,”  _ a voice out of view says. The man tenses, but sets his jaw.

_ “You can't be saying-” _

_     “John,”  _ interrupts a third voice.  _ “Stop this silliness. It's for the best of everyone.” _

__ Madison- the great-whomever of the one currently on the Council, presumably- rears up out of his seat, eyes sparking angrily.  _ “You're all too frightened to do anything,”  _ he accuses.  _ “Like little children, not wanting to point out when their father is wrong.” _

_      “That is enough!”  _ barks someone _. “Get him out of here. Make sure he's not talked any of his family into believing this nonsense.” _

__ Fear flashes across Madison’s face, a split second of panic in his dark eyes, but he stands his ground as Redcoats grab him by the elbows.  _ “You're all damn fools,”  _ he bites out, his tone clipped and clinical.  _ “Little red puppets, dancing on a golden string.” _

_      “Out!”  _ roars the first voice, and Madison holds his head high as he's pulled out of view.  _ “Stop the damn recording, we're not broadcasting this anymore. Nothing said in here leaves this room.”  _

     The camera obediently blinks off.

     Theo spins, and resumes her pacing. “That was the last ever recording of a Council meeting. The one who ordered Madison out of the room was the first Howe to be Enforcer General.”

     “I see,” Angelica says delicately. She doubts that Washington or Franklin have ever seen this; even they didn't have some of the access codes that Theo does. “And I assume Madison was killed for this, then?”

    “John Madison was the first Upper citizen to be silenced, yes,” Theo agrees slowly. “Up until last night, he was the last.”

     Instinctively, Angelica is on her feet. “Last night?”

     “Girl called Martha Manning got executed,” Theo informs her, whirling and stalking back across the room. “Charged with stirring up rebellion. Her boyfriend, Henry Laurens’s son, disappeared shortly after. The family is saying he probably couldn't handle it, and ran somewhere to kill himself.”

     Shit.

     “Fuck,” she breathes, and Theo waves at her. There's a sparking, hidden fear in her chocolate eyes, and her movements are stiff.

     “You need to be careful, Angie. They still don't know it's you, and I'm not about to share, but  _ please. _ I can't lose you.”

     Angelica steps forward, grabs her hand. “Hey. You too. You're in this a hell of a lot deeper than I am.”

     Theo nods, and pulls her close after a moment of hesitation. “I can't wait for this to be over. I'm so sick of living three lives.”

     “You and me both,” Angelica says quietly, her words caught and muffled in the other woman's hair. “You and me both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See I said this would get finished eventually!!! Tada!!!!!
> 
> Next up should be John and Alex meeting, but god knows what the muse is going to decide to do with that.
> 
> My main Tumblr: @discount-satan  
> My writing Tumblr: @littlelionroar
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> So Lizzy just kicked Benedict Arnold's ass, that was fun.
> 
> Peg and Angie will have their pieces up really rEALLY soon.
> 
> My main tumblr: @discount-satan  
> My writing tumblr: @littlelionroar
> 
> Kudos and comments are always super appreciated!


End file.
